Learning to Love
by maybesomedaysameen
Summary: Shaw hates more than she loves, but she's trying.


Shaw loves very few things. Dogs, Steak, Sniper Rifles. She loves landing a perfect gut shot and finding a black jacket that is both pretty and practical. There are more things that she hates. She hates when people cry. She hates soy milk, bright clothing, children. Girly drinks, cold weather, Fusco's snoring. Tiny portions of food, delays on the subway, idle chitchat.

There are some things that she is learning to love. Some things that make up a person. She is learning to love the sound of her text tone and the beep of her comm. She is learning to love the smell of apple shampoo and the click of a keyboard late at night. She is learning to love sudden appearances and sudden disappearances and one-sided conversations.

Root is hard to love, though. She is selfish and spontaneous and messy. Her apartment is a disaster and she can't cook to save her life. She is always absent, but always clingy. She is infuriating and frustrating and impossibly tempting.

Shaw tries to love her as much as she can, but it's hard. It's hard in the harsh light of day to forget the annoying things. It's hard when everyone is around them, stealing Root's attention away and leaving Shaw waiting for the action. When they're in public, Shaw has to keep her hands to herself and her focus on the number and her ears open for the team.

It's hard to love Root when Shaw doesn't feel it. There are bad days when she is empty and worse days when Root is full. Some nights, Shaw needs to be held down and Root just needs to be held. They fight, not often, but enough, and Shaw is convinced that she will never love. Then, Root apologizes and Shaw apologizes and the ice around her insides seems to thaw.

It is not always hard. When they lie in bed together, when their bodies are tired and their minds alive, it is easy to love Root. When the moonlight streams through the window of Shaw's empty apartment and lands on the pale skin of Root's bare legs, her stomach, her breasts, when it reflects in her eyes, Shaw is in love.

When Root comes home with food from their favorite Chinese place, Shaw is in love. When she gives Root a new gun and Root immediately takes it apart, Shaw is in love. When she wakes up to find Root and Bear on top of her and her legs asleep and her body warm, Shaw is in love. When Root drives her motorcycle, pulls off a helmet, shakes out her hair, Shaw is in love.

Right now, they are in a greenhouse, hiding from a number-turned-perpetrator. Root is naming plants as the Machine tells her and Shaw is not in love. It is the end of a long day, hours and hours of chasing this number across New York City and Shaw needs quiet, alone time, peace. Root names another species and Shaw snaps.

"Can you shut up?" Shaw asks sharply. "I'm trying to listen."

Root's face falls, just slightly, and Shaw knows she's been rude. Root bounces back immediately, eyes twinkling and mouth smiling. Shaw can see the slight tightness around her eyes and remembers their most recent fight, her harsh words about Root's voice and chatter. Shaw closes her eyes.

"Sorry," Shaw says through gritted teeth. "Sorry."

The tightness around Root's eyes disappears. "It's ok. I'll stop."

"Thanks." Shaw looks away, listening for the number and counting to ten. "What is She saying?"

"Reese caught him. We're in the clear."

Sighing, Shaw crawls out from under the table of plants, climbing to her feet and looking around. They found this greenhouse by luck. It is tucked into the side of a building, someone's oasis in the city. Shaw sees a succulent in the corner and picks it up, showing Root.

"You succ," Shaw says, pointing to the clay pot. "Get it?"

Root rolls her eyes, taking Shaw's usual move, and then she tilts her head. "I've never sucked in a greenhouse before."

Heat runs through Shaw's body, she sees the moonlight stream through greenhouse glass, shining against Root's hair, and she's in love. She sucks in air, puts the plant down, starts pulling her coat off. In front of her, Root slips out of her shoes, takes off her mismatched socks, unzips her leather jacket.

The comm beeps in Shaw's ear, but Root is standing in front of her, so she ignores it. The moonlight grows bright, a cloud moves away, and Root's skin begins to glow. Shaw closes the distance between them, hand grabbing Root's shoulders and yanking her close and they kiss.

She is in love with the taste of Root's mouth. She is in love with the feel of Root's skin. She is in love with Root's fingers in her hair, Root's legs around her waist, Root's fingers inside her. She's in love with Root's gasp in her ear, the condensation collecting on the glass walls, the heat in the pit of her stomach.

In an hour, they will be back with the team. They will be dressed and tired and back in the city. Shaw will hate the cold air and the comm. conversation and the distance between her hands and Root's body. She will hate returning to her empty apartment and she will hate that the moonlight falls on the floor instead of on Root's perfect skin.

That doesn't matter right now. Right now, she focuses on the way Root's mouth feels between her legs. She focuses on the pain of a table digging into her back, the way her hand knocks over an empty pot, the way Root moans and Shaw can feel it in her stomach. She focuses on the moonlight and the woman that's she's learned to love.


End file.
